Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy(72)

His voice deliberately noncommittal, Dan said, “If he wasn’t a vampire I don’t think I’d stand a chance.”

I didn’t have a response for that. If I could choose one over the other and Tristan wasn’t a vampire, who would I pick? I honestly had no idea.

Tristan wrapped up his remarks. An Episcopalian priest took his place at the podium to offer up a short prayer, asking God to accept me in His warm forgiving embrace. No bright light transported me away to a set of pearly gates, and the service ended. People headed towards the door.

Dan said apologetically, “This is going to be it for a service. You’ll be interred at Fulton Falls Cemetery. Tristan has a very nice headstone ordered for you. It’s got hearts and angels, I understand.”

“That’s fine. This was nicer than I expected.” Which was true. Best of all, I’d gotten through with a minimum of tears and no hysterics. I felt proud of myself.

The room had nearly emptied when I saw a young woman rise from an armchair in the far corner of the room. She walked slowly to my casket, her sensible heels sinking slightly into the plush carpeting. Her red hair, the exact same shade as mine, was pulled back in a chignon. Her pretty face was drawn, and dark half-moons no makeup could cover were imprinted under her blue eyes.

I appeared in front of her without consciously attempting to transport. When her trembling hand touched my casket, I tried to slap it away, my hand passing right through her wrist. She didn’t react, her eyes faraway as she gazed at the pristine whiteness of my coffin.

Knowing she couldn’t hear me didn’t keep me from yelling, “What are you doing here?”

Dan dashed across the room as soon as he figured out where I’d materialized. “Who is she, Brandilynn? She looks just like you.”





“It’s my sister Ashley.” I turned on him, needing someone to yell at, someone who could hear me. “How come she’s here?”

Dan rubbed my back in an effort to comfort me. “Apparently she came to say goodbye.”

“We already did that!” I turned to scream in my sister’s face. “Why are you here? Huh? You answer me!”

Dan gripped my shoulder. “Brandilynn—”

I stomped, rage exploding from me, seeking to devastate something, anything. “She never went against one single thing my parents ever wanted. She got her degree, followed the right career, married the right man and had perfect children.” I was more furious than I’d ever been, but darn it, I couldn’t confront her. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Ashley turned away from my casket, her face a mirror image of mine, except she was morose and I was mad. She walked away from me, heading for the door.

I faced a worried Dan. “She was as miserable as me, but she never said boo to a thing they wanted, and when they disowned me she didn’t say boo to that either!”

I stormed after my sister, yelling all the way. “Do they know you’re here? I bet they don’t, Miss Perfect. How dare you show up now when it’s too late. How dare you!”

Ashley left the room, not hearing a single word I’d said. Leaving me alone, without family once more.

A terrible cawing sound eclipsed the piped-in orchestral music. It ratcheted through the room in ear-splitting heaves. It took several seconds before I realized the sound came from me. I sobbed in big, ugly bellows, anguish eclipsing the anger that had overcome me. I sank to the floor, my body shaking with violent grief.

I was dimly aware Lana and Yelena had joined me and Dan in the now otherwise empty room.

Yelena’s soft trill sounded as sweet as spring rain, but it couldn’t wash away my sorrow. “We could hear her in the lobby, Dan. Is there anything I can do?”

Lana snuffled tears in gentle counterpoint to my harsher cries. “Poor Brandilynn. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Yelena: “I could cast a calming spell if you like.”

Dan’s voice was thick. “Let her get it out. She’s overdue.”

I tried to sick it up, all the loneliness and the pain of rejection. It overwhelmed, sucking me down a painful piece at a time like a black hole in my gut. As hard as I tried to exorcise the torment, it only seemed to grow. It pulled me away from the warmth of the surrounding people, clutching me in the jagged claws of hell. And it was getting worse.

Something besides grief had me. Suddenly terrified, I reached for the perfectly manicured hand of Yelena, as if she could yank me free of the rending draw of whatever had caught me.





“Something’s not right,” she cried, and began muttering like a charismatic preacher speaking tongues.

Whatever she was doing, it didn’t work. The pain increased, and the cloying layers of flowers and potpourri were replaced by the smell of dank dead things. The room began to smear in the telltale wash of transport.